


Long Way Down

by mangochi



Category: Almost Human
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, John is emotionally constipated and Dorian tries to help, M/M, Slow Burn, how does one tag
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-01
Updated: 2013-12-31
Packaged: 2018-01-03 05:11:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1066153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mangochi/pseuds/mangochi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian works his way into John's life piece by piece, and it's too late for either of them to see the fall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This fandom will be the end of me, I swear. I was hoping to last through at least the first season before jumping on the wagon, but NOPENOPENOPE I had to do it. Hope you enjoy.

“Hey, man, I think that’s enough,” Dorian said quietly, reaching out and tapping the back of John’s wrist with two fingers as he raised his glass again.

John ignored him and shook free irritably, draining the glass in one swallow and banging it down on the counter with a loud clunk. The bartender drifted over warily, his shock of spiked blue hair bright and distracting in the half-gloom of the club. There was a deep throbbing in the air, a pulse that crept up the legs of the bar stool and made John’s synthetic leg go nuts. “One more,” he rasped, squinting blearily at Blue Hair. He could practically feel Dorian’s disapproving stare, but he didn’t give a shit. Not tonight.

“I think your bot’s right, mister. You oughta take it easy and call it a night, huh?” The kid tugged idly on the monstrosity of an earring dangling from his left lobe as he spoke.

“M’not on the job. S’okay.” Kennex tapped the glass against the counter again insistently. "One more."

“Look, man, I ain’t complaining about the business, but we’ve got rules here, see?” the bartender said impatiently. "And the rules say you've had one too many."

“I’ve got him,” Dorian said to the bartender, laying down a credit chip and taking John firmly by the arm. “Come on, let’s go.”

John grunted in displeasure, but let his partner haul him unceremoniously to his feet, blinking dazedly as the flickering strobes and discs of colored light enveloped them. “Whooaaa.”

“Definitely enough for one night,” he thought he heard Dorian mutter exasperatedly, and he felt an arm tuck around his side, steadying him as they limped their way through the crowded floor. He was sure he felt a grope or two on the way to the door, and possibly made an attempt to grope back, but Dorian moved like some sort of serene truck, bulling his way through without causing so much as an offended expletive, and soon John found himself outside with a faceful of cold night air.

Dorian was still hanging on to him, and he tried to pull away clumsily, pushing at the arm around his waist. “Leggo…”

If anything, the damn bot clung tighter and began the stubborn process of towing them to the cruiser.

“You’re a real pain in the ass, you know that?” John slurred deliriously, stumbling over his own feet and clutching automatically at Dorian’s jacket before he could faceplant the pavement. His partner finally stopped and turned, propping his sorry self up against a wall with one hand and holding him there. The brick was cold and clammy and scraped against his back through his jacket.

“You want to talk about it?” Dorian asked quietly, and it was both stupid and sad how his blue eyes were steadier than the rest of the spinning, crazy world.

John plucked at the arm holding him up halfheartedly, then gave up, tilting his head back until it thunked dully against the wall. “No.”

Dorian studied him critically, a flicker of blue circuitry running briefly down his cheek. “It would help, John.” He still sounded strange whenever he said the name, relishing the sound of it in his mouth like it was some kind of treat. “Bottling it up's no good.”

“The hell would you know,” John snapped, feeling sick and sour and like he was going to cry. “Let me go, damn it."

Dorian ignored him, and John realized with dawning horror that his nausea wasn’t going away. "Dorian, I'm serious!"

The DRN blinked, then hastily released him, stepping back as John bent over and hurled majestically over the curb. He coughed and wheezed, dry heaving a couple of times before wiping his mouth shakily on the back of his hand. "God, that’s awful."

Dorian glanced down with slight interest at the mess of violently colored liquids draining away down the gutter, then fixed his gaze steadily on John. "Would you like a cracker?"

"...What?"

"A cracker. It's on the list of recommended human foods to ingest after vomi-"

"You have _crackers_?"

"I can get some crackers," Dorian said calmly, still watching him unblinkingly. "Would you like one?"

John squinted at him for a long moment, decided this was all a product of the seventeen drinks he shouldn't have had, and straightened wearily, only swaying slightly. "I'm done. I'm headed back to the station."

Dorian fell in step easily beside John as he staggered off to the lot, matching lurching stride for stride comfortably. “It’s late,” he pointed out. “You’re off duty.”

“Paperwork,” John mumbled, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other. “Gotta sort out-” Autopsy reports. Notification of the next of kin. He suddenly felt like throwing up again, the taste of bile still sharp in his mouth.

“It can wait.”

He shook his head in frustration, wincing as his already throbbing head twinged in protest. “No, it can’t. I need to-”

“John.” Dorian grabbed his arm again as he reached for the car door and spun him around so that they faced each other. “You need to rest.”

“Don’t touch me,” Kennex growled, getting right back into his face belligerently. It was cold, he was sad and angry and had seen too many things that day to deal with this. Too much blood. A pang of something sharp and bitter pierced his chest, and he gritted his teeth until it faded.

Dorian backed off, but his expression remained stubbornly set. "You are going home, Detective, or I'll be forced to report this to your superiors." He'd do it, too, the little snitch, John realized, recognizing that mulish expression.

Too tired and drunk to kick up a fuss, John threw up his hands and turned to unlock the cruiser. A hand reached over and closed over his, plucking the keys from fumbling fingers. "I'm driving," Dorian said firmly.

"Seriously, I give you an inch and you're taking the whole ten miles?" John exploded drunkenly. "It's my car, damn it-"

"You're in no condition to drive," Dorian reminded him sharply, his voice taking on that dry mechanicalism that he knew John hated. "Your blood alcohol concentration is at fifteen point six percent, and as an enforcer of the law, I'm obligated to-"

"You," John said resignedly, "are a pain in the ass when you go all cop-mode on me, you know that?"

It was a quietly smug Dorian that slid in the driver's seat and reminded John to put on his seatbelt twice before reaching over and clicking it into place for him, giving the strap a secure tug afterwards and ignoring John’s clumsy attempts to swat him away. It was Dorian who somehow made it back to John’s apartment based on a set of practically incoherent instructions and unbuckled John and dragged him out of the cruiser. And it was Dorian who manhandled him up the elevator and patted him down until he found the key card in his back pocket and let them both into the dark apartment.

By the time Dorian tossed him on the unmade bed and reached for his belt, John had recovered enough of his senses to make a fuss.

“The hell are you doing?” he growled, slapping Dorian’s hands away and guarding his zipper suspiciously.

The android straightened and looked upon him with infinite patience. “Your leg, John. You’ll sleep better without it on.”

John stared at him blankly, then down at his legs. “Uh.”

“Let me help.” Dorian bent again and John grabbed his wrists in exasperation.

“Dorian, I think I can take off my own damn pants.”

“Of course,” Dorian said dubiously.

“Hey, it’s only easier with one leg,” John snapped, and he had no idea what he was even saying anymore. He busied himself with kicking off his pants instead, deliberately ignoring Dorian’s critical gaze as he hurled the offending fabric into a corner and sullenly climbed into bed. “You need to plug up or something?” he had the presence of mind to ask as he settled down against his pillow.

Dorian shrugged offhandedly. “I’ll be fine. I’ll charge up in the morning.”

“But we’ve got wo-”

“It’s our day off tomorrow.” Dorian tapped his temple. “Captain’s orders.”

“Meddling woman,” John tried to grumble, but exhaustion mixed with alcohol slurred his words into an incomprehensible slush.

“I’ll be around,” he thought he heard Dorian say.

............

_"We’ve got you surrounded, Ortiz!" Kennex shouted, his voice echoing over the loudspeaker. "Let them go."_

_The woman clutched her young child, to her chest and gave a teary squeak as Ortiz jammed the barrel of his shotgun harder under her ribs._

_"Ortiz," John warned, an edge of panic entering his voice. "Drop the weapon."_

_The gunman's laugh contained a harsh rasp of hysteria, his wide eyes flicking feverishly from side to side as he examined his options. The lobby's exits were plugged with uniformed officers and their MX's, the other hostages safely evacuated to the medics waiting outside. The bank's black marble floor was smeared with the blood of one of the three other gunmen, his body still lying crumpled against the gleaming tiles. “You shot my brother,” Ortiz said disbelievingly, sweat beading his face as he backed away, dragging the woman with him. “You_ killed _him.”_

_“Please-” the woman whimpered, and flinched when the arm around her neck tightened._

_“Orders, sir,” the MX at John’s elbow said, tilting its blank face towards him._

_“John-”_

_“You killed him-”_

_“Detective Kennex, your orders-”_

“John!”

He jerked awake abruptly, sucking in a startled gasp of air as he tried to sit up and tangled himself in the sheets, panic threading through his veins. It was so dark, he couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe-

Something heavy caught his shoulder, pressed him down effortlessly to the bed. He flinched, arms swinging out instinctively, and his hand locked around a solid forearm.

“John, it’s me.” Dorian’s quiet voice sliced through his confused haze abruptly. John squinted up, saw the faintest of silhouettes in the shadows.

“Dorian...what…”

“Your vitals are off the wall, man. Breathe.” The hand on his shoulder gave him a reassuring pat before pulling away. John lay still, trying to do just that while Dorian shuffled around in the darkness.

A moment later, the lights snapped on at half capacity and he blinked up at the ceiling, feeling both exhausted and completely awake. A shadow fell over him as Dorian leaned across the bed, peering worriedly into his face.

Crazy. A bot worried about him.

"Hey, you all right? Heard you thrashing from the couch."

"'Heard,' my ass," John rasped hoarsely. There was a terrible fuzzy feeling in his head, the beginnings of a bad hangover rearing its ungodly head. "Not with those damn scanners of yours."

A casual shrug. No denial. "Whatever makes you feel better."

"A beer," John decided, "would make me feel better." He sat up with a heartfelt groan, kicking off his sweat-damp sheets irritably and scowling down at the empty gap next to his left leg.

"It's late," Dorian said doubtfully, as John tried to calculate his current range of mobility into his chances of getting to the prosthetic in one piece.

John grunted sourly. "It's four in the afternoon somewhere." His palms suddenly prickled with the sensation of drying blood, and he wiped his hands on the sheets unthinkingly.

Dorian's eyes flicked down to the movement, but he didn't mention it, saying instead, "Stay here. I'll get you a drink."

Surprised and more than a little suspicious, John attempted to hold his ground. "I can get my own-"

"Stay. Please."

So John sat there reluctantly, staring blankly down at his hands as he listened to Dorian clanking around distantly in the kitchen. It had been a long time since he'd had a nightmare like that, but he remembered those first few nights after waking from his coma. He remembered bits and pieces of the beginning, the smell of antiseptic and white cleanliness and the feel of cold hands pressing him down. A dry gust of oxygen hissing as a mask clamped over his face, the beeping of monitors and his own racing heartbeat, the terrible feeling that something was wrong, wrong, wrong-

A large mug, a red and white striped monstrosity he didn't remember ever owning, suddenly appeared before him, and he blinked at it with a predictable bewilderedness, the murmuring of long-past voices fading away. "What’s this.”

“Tea,” Dorian prompted helpfully. “It’s supposed to help.”

“I don’t drink _tea_ ,” John spluttered indignantly, glaring up at him. “Get me a real drink, damn it.”

Dorian looked slightly exasperated and twitched the mug closer to him menacingly.

"Bully," John muttered, taking the mug reluctantly and scowling into the fragrant steam rising from the golden liquid. It smelled like _flowers_ , for God's sake. He held the tea so Dorian wouldn't nag, but he didn't drink it and the android surprisingly didn't press the issue. He leaned his shoulder against the wall instead, eyeing John with a genuine kind of concern that not even half the flesh-and-blood people John knew couldn't pull off.

That had bothered him, at first, looking into those synthetic blue eyes and seeing something undeniably human peer out. Like looking in a reverse mirror at everything he was and everything he wasn't, and wondering if he was repulsed or envious. He wasn't over it completely, not yet, but damn it if the android wasn't the only one who understood him at times like this.

“You shouldn’t sleep in the dark like that.” Dorian almost sounded disapproving, and John swallowed a dry, startled laugh.

“I’m not a kid anymore, you know.”

“Don’t have to be a kid to get scared,” Dorian murmured, lowering his eyes to the floor.

John snorted derisively. “I’m not _scared_.”

That quieted the android for a few moments and John took the opportunity to sip cautiously at the tea.

“I’m afraid of the dark,” Dorian said suddenly, not looking up, and John fumbled the mug badly before managing to set it down upright, a trickle of hot liquid dripping over his fingers.

“What?” he asked stupidly, staring at the android suspiciously. “Why?”

Dorian did look up then, his eyes unexpectedly bleak and raw, and John faltered slightly at his expression. “I...don't know,” Dorian said finally, his voice tilted in that way that it did when he tried to lie, and left the bedroom before John had even registered the words.

John sat there for a long moment and listened to the sounds of Dorian returning to the kitchen, cupping the cooling mug between his palms and feeling inexplicably guilty. He grunted dismissively and took a gulp, grimacing at the bitter mix of herbs. But it was hot, and it cleared his head just enough for him to realize what a complete ass he was. He set the tea down on the nightstand and shifted his weight grimly, eyeing the charging port where his leg lay and steeling himself to lurch upright.

The drunken fool he was, he completely miscalculated his trajectory and ended up falling majestically on his ass with a startled grunt.

There was a hasty pattering of footsteps and he peeled his face off the floor in time to see Dorian drop to his knees beside him. “John, you okay, man?” He felt a hand on his back and the other wrap around his bicep, and he shook Dorian off gruffly.

“M’alright. Just trying to get my leg,” John mumbled, avoiding Dorian’s worried stare. He felt a flush of mortification creeping up the back of his neck as he pushed and rolled himself into a sitting position against the side of the bed. He was pathetic, really, a wreck of a man who couldn’t even stand up on his- well...on his own foot.

“I’m sorry,” Dorian said sincerely, sitting back on his heels, and his voice lacked any indication of pity or condescension. John peeked up at him warily.

“What for?”

Dorian blinked at him slowly, and was that _guilt_ he saw? “You need to sleep, John. It’s my job to take care of you.”

John squinted at him. “What?”

“The drugs must be working faster than I calculated,” Dorian continued, almost apologetically. “I was hoping you’d be back in bed by then.” Something was wrong here, John knew, but he couldn’t...quite...get it. His head felt oddly fuzzy and muffled, as if his thoughts were swaddled in cotton. “But hey, I’m only human, right?” There was a bitter sort of irony there, but John couldn’t open his mouth to call him on it.

 _You bastard, you_ drugged _me?_ John tried to yell, but all that came out was, “Mnmnsdffn.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Dorian said soothingly. “I’m sorry, man, but you looked terrible. This is for the best, I promise.”

Blackness threatened to overtake him, and he felt a thin chill of panic. No. No, he couldn’t go back to sleep. Cold dead eyes were waiting, and so much red-

“John, it’s okay. Relax.”

Nononono. He moved with the last vestiges of his strength, fingers clutching weakly at the front of Dorian’s shirt. He probably made some sort of sound, though he couldn’t quite hear himself anymore, but he felt cool, artificially smooth fingers gently disentangle his hand and hold it still. “It’s all right. I’ll be right here.”

 _That’s not what I meant, asshole_ , John thought blurrily, and then he was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took sooooo looooonnng, but I think I finally know what I'm doing with it now.

_He knelt down slowly by the body, ignoring the warning beep and the resulting surge of pain from his right leg as the limb bent beneath him. It was just something to fixate on now, these days. Just another part of his wreck of a body._

_Sally Halin’s eyes were still wide open, and he wanted to close them, but the medics were moving in needlessly and he was brushed aside. Ortiz’s corpse sprawled behind her, peppered by the sixteen bullets of the officers. There was only one in Sally, though. One was all that had been necessary._

_“John,” Dorian said quietly by his side. “It wasn’t your fault.”_

_“The hell it wasn’t.” His voice sounded strange even to himself._

_“You saved her child.”_

_“I couldn’t save_ her _.” That child would grow up motherless, with perhaps the faintest memory of splattering red and a shriek cut short by an echoing bang. All because he'd given the wrong order._

_Again._

_Dorian laid a hand on his elbow in a move intended to comfort, but it felt all wrong coming from him. Or maybe it was too right. John pulled away harshly, hating the flash of undeniable hurt across Dorian’s face. That was all he ever did- hurt people. Or get them killed._

_The sharp truth of it was, the android was more human that John knew how to be, more human than any synthetic had any right to be. Maybe, John couldn’t help but think, that was why the DRNs were decommissioned in the first place. They had surpassed their creators in humanity._

_“Detective!”_

_There was, John abruptly noticed, a smear of dark blood glistening on his shoe. He scraped it against the floor roughly, then walked away._

..........

John opened his eyes.

He stared dazedly up at the ceiling, saw the glimmer of daylight through the clear solar panels.

He was swiftly becoming aware of the terrible taste in his mouth and the pounding awfulness of a hangover he most definitely deserved after the night he’d had. Nails stabbed behind his eyes without every movement, every _thought_ , and even blinking was quickly becoming overrated.

Something itched at the back of his ragged, fuzzy mind, nudging persistently despite its invisibility, and he frowned unconsciously as he turned onto his side with a suffering groan.

One second. Two seconds.

John stifled a startled yelp and rolled away onto his back despite the surge of dizziness the movement brought, pushing himself up onto his elbows to get a better look.

Dorian was sitting on the floor beside his bed, head bent to his chest and legs sprawled gracelessly in front of him. On closer inspection, John noticed the charging cords trailing across the floor.

“Dorian?" he whispered uncertainly, his voice hoarse and scratchy. The android didn't move, and John reached out tentatively, prodding at the back of his dark head with a finger. "Dorian."

Dorian jolted upright, his heels skittering on the floor for a moment before he regained control over his limbs. He turned his head to the side, one pale blue eye regarding John blithely. "Good morning, John." He sounded more chipper than John grouchily deemed necessary at- he glanced quickly at his clock- eight in the morning.

“What the hell are you doing in my apartment?” John demanded. There was something very crucial he was missing here, he was certain. If he could just _think_ for one damn second-

Dorian looked vaguely guilty, and there was something familiar about that expression that caused a sudden flash of recollection from the night before.

John reeled for all of four seconds before snarling, “You _maniac_! You drugged me!”

“In my defense, you had it coming.”

“You-” John flopped back with a pained groan. “If I didn’t feel like complete shit right now….” He couldn’t even finish the thought, though he knew there was something about maiming in there.

He heard a tiny click and beep that was most likely the sounds of Dorian unplugging himself, and if that wasn’t the weirdest thought he’d ever had in the morning, he didn’t know what was.

“Are you hungry?” Dorian asked briskly, coiling his cords up neatly as he spoke.

The thought of food nearly had John stumbling to the bathroom. He emitted an unhappy noise that Dorian apparently took as a sufficient response, and the android disappeared quietly into the kitchen.

“Hey, man, you got any detox pills in here?” came the call a second later.

John tried to remember the contents of his cupboards. “Second on right. Maybe. I dunno. _Christ_ , I’m never drinking again.”

“Your words, not mine,” Dorian said, reappearing with a pill packet in his hand. He popped one of the flat orange tablets from its foil casing and dangled it cheerfully above John’s face. “Open up.”

John shot him a homicidal glare, but opened his mouth reluctantly. Dorian dropped the tablet in, and he grimaced as it dissolved on his tongue, coating the inside of his mouth with a faintly bitter taste. The tablet did its work, though, and he could physically feel his headache receding to a nonlethal level. He pushed himself up gingerly to a sitting position, pulling a displeased expression. "God, that's awful."

Dorian shrugged unrepentantly, and John turned to him in annoyance. “And why are you still here?”

“You asked me to stay," Dorian answered mildly, raising his eyebrows.

“What?” John frantically scanned through his patchy memories. “I did not.”

“You did,” Dorian said insistently. "Grabbed onto me like some kind of inebriated possum."

John frowned, a fuzzy memory dawning unbidden. _He felt cool, artificially smooth fingers gently disentangle his hand and hold it still.“It’s all right. I’ll be right here.”_

John began shaking his head, horrified. “No. No, that wasn’t- I wasn’t asking you to-”

“Oh.” Dorian looked faintly disappointed. “I must have misunderstood.”

Well, shit. John shifted uneasily. “Dorian…”

“No, that’s cool, man. Sorry I took up your space and all.” Dorian gestured vaguely with the coil of cords in his hand. “I used your ports to charge up, hope that’s okay with you.”

John scratched the back of his head awkwardly, feeling a lurch in his stomach that had little to do with the residual hangover. “Um, yeah, that’s fine. Listen, Dorian, I didn’t mean-”

“John, it’s fine. I understand." And he smiled, a small, terribly sad smile that did nothing to make John feel less like the world's biggest asshole. "I'll need a ride back to the station. I mean, it's my day off, too, but it's okay." John squinted at him, suspicion beginning to niggle at his brain. "I'll probably spend it with Rudy," Dorian continued, "You know, sitting there and staring at the limbs and innards of my fellow-"

"All right!" John snapped. "You manipulative little bastard. You can stay, happy?"

The smile this time was wide and satisfied. "If you insist."

Dorian was surprisingly compliant as John reluctantly began preparing himself for another day. He fetched John’s synthetic leg like a cocker spaniel, watching with unfettered interest as John twisted it into place, and when John ordered him into the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee, he went willingly enough to explore the coffee maker. When John stepped out of his shower, a towel wrapped haphazardly around his waist and prosthetic dripping with condensation, he found himself confronted with a steaming mug of perfectly heated caffeine and a flat pile of folded clothes.

He took the mug without a word and frowned at the clothes. “What’s this?”

“Something nice. We’re going out today,” Dorian informed him, his head tilted expectantly.

“Going out? Thought we were staying in.”

“Going out,” Dorian affirmed. “Staying indoors all day’s not good for you.”

John sneered. “Speak for yourself. I’m staying put.”

Dorian stood his ground. “I’ve been your partner for two weeks now, John,” he said quietly, “and I haven’t paid my respects to Pelham yet.”

John stilled. “Pelham was cremated,” he said warily. “There’s nothing to see.”

Dorian rocked back on his heels, folding his hands in front of himself serenely. “It’s the thought that counts. I would still like to meet him.”

John grunted and looked into his mug grouchily. It had, he admitted, been some time since he’d gone to see his old partner. He had gone once after he’d woken from his coma, but that...that hadn’t gone so well. He snuck a sidelong glance at Dorian and hurriedly turned away when he saw that the android was watching him keenly. Maybe it’d be better this time.

He downed half the mug before he could wallow too much and grunted reluctantly. “No flowers.”

…

Dorian insisted on talking to the little box of ashes alone, of course. John had taken one look at the android’s face and swallowed his complaints of “He was _my_ partner, asshole.” He had nodded instead and told the assistant Pelham’s serial number before stepping out through the doors. There was a bench in the hallway outside, facing the doors, and he sat down with a sigh.

There was a little round window set in the doors, and he could glimpse Dorian sitting down at the reception table as the assistant slid the tray in front of him. He could see Dorian’s mouth moving, eyes locked solemnly on the remains of John’s ex-partner, and he wondered briefly what the android was saying.

Complaining about John, most likely. Pelham had had his own fair share of pet peeves back in the day, John recalled now, all of which he had intentionally tried to trigger just for the sheer hell of it. Remembering didn’t hurt as much anymore, more of a dull throb rather than the stabbing grief it had been in the first few weeks.

He stared at the floor as the minutes ticked by, playing with the end of the fiddly tie Dorian had forced on him. “It looks respectful,” Dorian had said, and then he had reached over to fix it for John before they left the apartment. John fingered the knot absently now, remembering looking down at Dorian’s lowered head as the android concentrated on straightening the tie.

Weird, to be reminded that Dorian was shorter than him. It seemed like the bot was much larger sometimes.

“John.”

He blinked and looked up. Dorian stood before him, hands at his sides. “I’ve finished.”

“Oh.”

“Would you like some time?” Dorian asked, when John said nothing more.

John glanced past him at the closed doors. “No. I’m good.” And to his own surprise, he was. “I’ll come back some other time.”

Dorian was studying him inscrutably when he looked back up, and he forced a halfhearted smile. "Where to now?"

Dorian sat down next to him, and their shoulders brushed. "What do you usually do on your days off?"

"Eat," John said at once. "Sleep. Drink. Y'know."

Dorian made an odd movement, as if he had been planning to shake his head, then changed his mind. "At least you've got your priorities straight."

"Damn right I do." John glanced at him, opened his mouth, then hesitated.

"What?"

"No, it's just..." He looked back at the doors, rubbing the joint of his synthetic leg distractedly. "Why are you here, Dorian?"

Dorian frowned quizzically. "To pay my respects, man. I thought that was obvious."

"No, not that." John gestured vaguely, then dropped his hands into his lap. "Why are you...here? With me? You didn't have to....yesterday, you didn't have to stay. You could've left."

Dorian's eyes were very blue from this distance, and John could see the circuits in his irises. "You've been left enough, John. I didn't want to add to that list." Their shoulders bumped again and John suspected now that it was intentional. “And you’re my only friend.”

John swallowed down the automatic denial and tapped his foot on the floor uncomfortably. “Lucky you,” he said instead.

“Yes, I’m starting to think so.”

The atmosphere had devolved very quickly into something John didn’t want to look too closely at. He stood abruptly instead, breaking whatever….weirdness had grown between them in the last few minutes, and scratched at his collar. “We should go.”

“All right,” Dorian said amicably, and he followed John out quietly to the car. John was pulling out of the lot when his comm beeped, and he gave the screen a cursory glance. It was a reminder he had set the day before to finish the-

Oh.

And somehow, he had managed to forget. Had allowed Dorian to distract him long enough to stop remembering blank brown eyes and a fan of blonde hair on the bloody floor. His leg throbbed and he swallowed, hands tightening on the wheel.

“John?”

“I’ve got work to do,” he said shortly. “Those reports-”

“I took care of them last night,” Dorian said nonchalantly, looking out his window. “While you slept,” he added, as if John needed clarification.

John resisted the urge to slam on the brakes and pinwheel off the road. “What? Why- what the hell did you do that for?” _I can take care of my own damn business-_

“You were tired,” Dorian said plaintively. “I don’t need to sleep. It needed to be done, so I did it.” He turned his head to look at John carefully with one blue eye. “Are you angry?”

John considered it, and he found that, really, he wasn’t. He sighed, as exasperated with himself as he was with Dorian and the rest of the world, and glared resolutely out the windshield. “No.” There was a pause, and he realized that Dorian was still watching warily, waiting for some sort of blowout. Christ, was that really what the android thought of him? He tried not to feel that it mattered, what Dorian thought of him.

“What did you say?” he asked abruptly, hoping to steer back onto a safer track of conversation. “To Pelham?”

“That’s a secret.”

John glanced at him, startled at the offhand remark. “What?”

“It’s between me and Pelham, man, have some tact,” Dorian said lightly.

“You bastard!” John exclaimed incredulously. “Whose partner do you think-”

“No one likes a busybody, John.” There was an amused smile playing at the corners of Dorian’s mouth as he spoke.

“You ass-”

“Reverting to name-calling. _Very_ immature.”

John cursed the rest of the way back to his apartment, accompanied by Dorian’s grin.

 


End file.
